User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 49
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Forty-Nine "How long are you going to keep punishing him?" Surprisingly—to Minerva, anyway—it was Einar McGonagall who came up with the solution to what she thought of as the "wedding problem". The family had gathered at the McGonagall home to welcome Thorfinn back from his extended trip to North America. Over dinner, Thorfinn enquired as to his daughter's wedding plans, and she replied that she and Albus had decided to marry in a Muggle register office. "Oh, Minerva, no!" said Morna. "I thought it had been decided that you'd do it here. Not in some dingy register office." "Now, Morna. Please remember that I married Elisabeth in a Muggle office. It isn't the end of the world," said Thorfinn. "I am sorry," Morna said. "I meant to cast no aspersions on your marriage to Elisabeth. It's simply that—" The other McGonagalls were dumbfounded when the usually composed witch couldn't finish her sentence but snatched up her napkin to dab at suddenly wet eyes. A concerned Minerva got up from her seat and went to her grandmother, kneeling by her chair. "Gran, what is it?" "Och, nothing but foolishness. Do forgive me. You and Albus must do whatever you think is right, of course." "Yes, but something is upsetting you. Please tell me what it is." Morna put her hand on top of her granddaughter's, which was resting on the older witch's knee. "All this wedding talk—it just reminds me of your mother." Minerva was taken aback. "How so?" "Foolishness, as I said," said Morna. "Morrigan—silly thing—but she used to talk about your wedding." Morna looked around the faces at the table. "She was sure you'd be a boy, you see," she said, looking back at Minerva. "And when it turned out you weren't, she was so delighted." Turning quickly to Einar, she added, "Not that she didn't want a boy, of course. But she'd always hoped she'd have at least one daughter. I think she'd missed having a sister, or perhaps some female cousins to play with growing up … all those boys … "So when you came along, Minerva, she always joked that she only knew boys' games to teach you. And Merlin knows she didn't hold with dressing you in frills and frippery just because you were a witch. But she did confess to having fantasies about her daughter's wedding … that it would be as lovely as her own had been … something you two could share when you were grown. She'd saved her dress, you see, the one fancy thing she'd ever willingly worn, I think, and so lovely in it she was, too." Now, everyone at the table had to wipe their eyes—it was almost comical. "Gran, why didn't you tell me?" asked Minerva. "I had no idea it meant so much to you." "No, and why should you? It's your wedding, and you must do as you see fit." "We can have a proper celebration here. It isn't that I don't want it," she said, although that was only half true. "It's just that Albus and I don't want it to become public knowledge, and we thought the best way to avoid that was to avoid a wizarding ceremony." "Of course. It makes sense," said Morna. "That's what you must do." "May I make a suggestion?" offered Einar, and everyone turned to look at him. "Please do," said Thorfinn. "Why not have a Muggle ceremony here?" Silence reigned for a few moments, then Thorfinn said, "How would we do that? We can hardly invite a Muggle registrar here." "No," agreed Einar. "But what about a Muggle minister?" "I fail to see the difference," said Thorfinn. "The difference, Da, is that I know a Muggle minister. He's the brother of one of the chaps I work with. We've been fishing together—the Muggle way. It's quite relaxing." "I shall never understand your fascination with Muggles—" Morna began, but Thorfinn interrupted her. "But in this case, it's brilliant," he said to his son. "As your friend's brother isn't subject to the International Statute." "No," said Einar. "That's the beauty of it. He knows all about our world, and thanks to the Muggle-born clause, he can mingle with us, but he can't tell anyone in the Muggle world." Einar stole a nervous glance at his father. He knew that Thorfinn didn't exactly approve of the way the Muggle-born clause of the International Statute for Secrecy was written, but even Thorfinn had to admit, it was better than nothing. It allowed first-degree Muggle relatives—and others, with special permission—of Muggle-born witches and wizards to interact with the wizarding world. However, they had to agree either to be placed under a charm which would prevent them from disclosing what they knew or to be Obliviated. It was a choice of coercion for most, Thorfinn often said, coming, as it usually did, along with the hard-to-absorb news that a beloved child was a witch or wizard. If the parent of a Muggle-born witch or wizard refused, he or she would receive a visit from an Obliviator post-haste, and his or her child denied admission to Hogwarts, all but dooming the unfortunate Muggle-born to a sort of shadowy half-life on the margins of wizarding society. An untrained witch or wizard was certainly free to interact with the magical world but would be nearly helpless to cope with it. Understandably, most parents meekly accepted the provisions of the clause, even if they didn't like it. "Would he be willing to marry us?" asked Minerva, still uncomfortable with the idea of the Muggle clergyman but willing to explore it after having heard her grandmother's revelation about her mother. "He might. He did Thomas—that's my friend—and his wife's ceremony at her parents' house so they could have a marriage that was valid in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds. It was lovely." Einar frowned. "Lot of praying, though." "A few Muggle prayers wouldn't hurt anything," said Thorfinn. "What do you think, Minerva?" "I think I should talk with Albus." She did, and he thought it a marvellous idea. Swearing all involved to secrecy, Einar arranged a meeting between Albus, Minerva, and his friend's brother, the Reverend David Dunbar, who proclaimed himself delighted to have the honour of solemnising the marriage of "the great Albus Dumbledore". It turned out that the Muggle clergyman was just as enamoured of the wizarding world as Einar was of Muggles. "Dumbfoonded I was when it turned out Tommy was a wizard, eh? I was fair jealous when he went awa tae Hogwarts, I dinna mind tellin' ye." When Albus asked if he didn't mind that neither he nor Minerva was a member of his church, Dunbar replied that it "didna fash" him, and that he was pleased that a witch and wizard wanted to "stand up before God". Albus looked uncomfortable. "I feel I must tell, you though, Reverend, I am not at all certain I believe in God." To Minerva's relief, a broad smile broke out over Dunbar's face. "'Tis nae matter, Professor Dumbledore. The important thing is that God believes in ye." As it turned out, Dunbar was also an educator—a lecturer at Christ's College in the University of Aberdeen—and would be free to come to Caithness after the Christmas holiday began. And so, the thing was set. Albus and Minerva would be married the Muggle way on Christmas Eve 1957 by this most strange intermediary, a Muggle minister of the Kirk of Scotland. ~oOo~ One Monday afternoon in mid-November, Aberforth Dumbledore was surprised to see Minerva McGonagall coming through the doors of his tavern. There were five men giving the Hog's Head their custom, and their nine eyes watched her as she walked up to the bar and asked in a low voice, "Do you have a minute?" "Aye. But you'll need to wait until I get these kegs changed out," he replied, cocking his head at a barrel that was hovering just behind him. "All right." He used his wand to Banish the two other empties to the back room, then went to fetch their replacements. When he returned, Levitating the full kegs behind him, he saw that Minerva now had company. One of the regulars had sidled up to the bar and was talking to her, while Minerva was looking as though she smelt something bad. Which, come to think on it, she probably did, considering how close the man was standing to her. "Oi, Preece!" Aberforth called as he directed the kegs into place with his wand. "In case you hadn't noticed, there's a lady standing at my bar, and she don't want to talk to you any more than she wants to smell you. So sod off." The man walked away, none too steadily, muttering under his breath. "Thank you," Minerva said. "That was gallant, but unnecessary." "Oh, I know. You can take care of yerself, Miss Minerva McGonagall. Isn't that what you told me once?" He smiled when she pressed her lips into a thin line. "Indeed," she said. "Any road, I didn't do it for you. I can't afford to let my bar get a reputation as an establishment where a fine lady like yerself can't come for a drink without getting bothered by the likes of that rubbish. So, what'll it be, Miss Minerva McGonagall … sorry … Professor McGonagall?" "It's Minerva. And nothing, thanks, Mist— Aberforth. I just wanted a word." "You come into my bar, you get a drink. No charge for you. I don't want it getting back to my brother that I don't know how to treat one of his … employees." "I really don't want—" Aberforth interrupted her by putting a glass on the bar with a sharp crack. "Here," he said, Summoning a bottle, "have a Gillywater. Nice, respectable drink for a nice, respectable schoolteacher. Nobody can call you a souse if yer drinking Gillywater of an afternoon." He blew a puff of dust off the bottle, unscrewed it, and poured, then pushed the glass at her. "Thank you," she said. She picked it up but didn't drink. "Can we speak privately?" "Aye. In back though, not upstairs. That way, I can keep an eye on the bar through the window," he said, nodding towards the door that separated the bar from the kitchen and back room. "Fine." She followed him into a cramped kitchen that smelt of cabbage. "Make yerself scarce," Aberforth said to a house-elf who had been cleaning glasses and peeling potatoes with simultaneous charms. "A house-elf?" Minerva asked, surprised, after the creature had Apparated away. "Yeah. Used to work for old Dippet at the school, but there was some dustup with one of the students, and the father made a stink. Dippet had to give him clothes, so I took him on here." "That was good of you." Aberforth snorted. "He's cheap, and that's all I care about. Doesn't poke his nose into my business. What did you want to say to me? I've got customers to attend to." "Of course." Minerva removed from her bag a slip of parchment and a jar of broom polish and held them out to him. "What's this?" asked Aberforth, frowning. "It's the location of my family home and a Portkey." Aberforth took them and looked at the parchment. "And exactly why am I to come to Castle Isleif on Christmas Eve?" "Because Albus and I would like you to come to our wedding." He said nothing for a moment. "Albus know about this?" he asked. "No," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "But I know it would mean a lot to him to have you there." "Mebbe it's escaped your notice, Professor, but there's no love lost between my brother and me." "I'm aware of that, but—" "Do you know why?" "Yes. Some of it, anyway." "Then you'll know why I can't accept yer kind invitation," he said, holding out the items to her. She didn't take them. "How long are you going to keep punishing him?" He masked his surprise with a mirthless smile. "Long as it takes, I reckon." "For what?" "For him to stop playing the hero," said Aberforth, not quite meeting her eye for the first time since she'd met him. "Is that what he does, do you think?" "Sure. Defeater of Grindelwald, Order of Merlin, First Class …" "That's what others say about him." "And what do you say?" "I say he is just a man. One who has done many things … some great, to be sure … and some less so." "So he hasn't dazzled you with his great power? His talent? His kindness?" asked Aberforth, practically hissing the last word. "I don't think I'm 'dazzled', no." "So you see 'im plain, do you?" "I think I do. And you're wrong, he doesn't see himself as a hero. Not at all." "Not so's he'd admit it, any road," said Aberforth. She thought he was going to walk out of the room then, but instead he surprised her by asking, "Tell me, Minerva, do you think he loves you?" She realised with some shock that she recognised the game now. She decided she wasn't going to play it. "That is between him and myself." "Sure," Aberforth said genially. Then: "Shall I tell you what I think? Since you've been so kind as to invite me to be part of it?" "I don't think—" "I think you're part of another of his grand schemes. It's no secret yer a canny witch. Powerful, too. I can feel it. Anyone comes close to you can, I reckon, if they know what they're feeling. One thing my brother isn't is a fool. He wants to make sure you don't end up on the wrong side o' things. "There's Darkness brewing out there, I can see it, and Albus knows it, right enough. It's the only reason he ever shows his misbegotten conk in my bar. He knows I hear things. So he keeps me close, passes me a few Galleons now 'n then to keep my head above water, keep this place running. Keeps MLE from shutting me down so he can keep his ear to the ground. "And now he's got you reeled in good and proper. So you can't turn on 'im. And the only thing I wonder, Professor, is whether he planned it all from the beginning. Did he start in on you when you were a girl because he knew how things were going to play out? Did he think he was going to save you from Darkness by taking you under his wing—and into his bed, if necessary—before you were old enough to know any better?" The unmistakable sound of ambient magic crackled around them, and Minerva clamped down hard on it. Forcing her teeth to unclench, she said, "I don't know, Aberforth. You'd need to ask him. I —" Or is it that you think you're going to save him?" Aberforth's eyes sparkled in an unnerving imitation of his brother's famous twinkle. A row of dirty glasses on the counter behind him exploded in a shower of glass and sticky liquor. He wiped the look of surprise quickly from his face and smiled broadly, knowing he had hit his mark. She was not yet good enough at the game. "I'm sorry," Minerva said, withdrawing her wand to clean up the mess. "Are you cut?" "I'm fine. I'll do it myself," he said, drawing his own wand. "Tergeo." More in control of herself now, Minerva said, "I don't think the glasses are salvageable. I'll replace them, of course." "No need," said Aberforth. "I'll just put it on my brother's tab." "Along with everything else, I expect," Minerva said without bitterness. She suddenly felt unutterably sad for the ruined man standing in front of her. She wondered what it must be like to live only for spite and recrimination and the chance to reap the same pound of flesh, over and over again. She also wondered what miracle had kept Albus from the same fate. "Keep those," she said to Aberforth, indicating the parchment and the Portkey. "If you change your mind, the Portkey will activate for three minutes at five o' clock on the twenty-fourth. As I understand it, you are the only family Albus has—at least until he joins mine. We would welcome you too, Aberforth. If your own pride could stand it." With that, she turned briskly and walked out the doors to the bar. Aberforth looked down at the parchment and jar of broom polish for a moment before snatching them up and putting them in his robe pocket. ← Back to Chapter 48 On to Chapter 50→ Category:Chapters of Epithalamium